


Birth of a Prince

by gollymissmolly



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2710421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gollymissmolly/pseuds/gollymissmolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Thomas' birth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birth of a Prince

"Congratulations, Margaret!  It's a --" The midwife stopped mid-sentence, her face draining of color.  She looked to the second midwife in the room, who frowned and looked away.  Neither would look at the mother, nor did they make a move to give put the child in her arms.

"It's a boy, isn't it?" The mother asked, her breathing still labored, but her voice calm, her eyes focused on the screaming infant in her nurse's arms. "Give him to me." She said, her tone allowing for no argument.

"Margaret, with these things, it's usually better if the mother never--" One of the women started, only to be cut off by the resolute, razor-like edge of Margaret's voice.

"Give me my son, and  _leave_."

The midwives looked at one another, but before Margaret started summoning up Will for a spell, the older of the two to wrap the child in a blanket and placed him in her arms.

Her expression broke in that moment, some unidentifiable noise between a laugh and a sob clawed its way from her throat as she held her son.  Never in her entire life of over ninety years had Margaret allowed herself to feel such depth of emotion.  But there was no stopping this  _tidal wave_  of adoration.  He was  _perfect_ \- his alien features, his spindly fingers (ten in total, and ten toes as well-- she counted), the little spot of dark hair on his head.

"We'll have to tell him about this," one of the midwives said as they started to leave, sorrow and apology in her voice, "Lord Raith. We have to tell him."

Margaret didn't even look up- she wouldn't allow such worms and trivialities to steal her attention from her perfect, beautiful son.  "Do what you must." She said, her face breaking into an unbidden smile as the infant gummed his open mouth a few times between hungry cries.  "Yes, it is a very difficult thing, to be born." She soothed him, touching his head with reverence, "But you did it very well, my son."

The midwives looked at one another again, but had no choice but to leave the room to tell the boy's father of his birth, leaving Margaret to nurse her son in peace. 

It was barely an hour before the child's father came to deal with the problem his lover had created-- but an hour was long enough for her to feed him, swaddle him, clean herself some and make a few other preparations.  When Lord Raith entered the infirmary room, he was already scowling. Margaret, however, was smiling, cradling her sleeping son against her chest, his tiny fingers wrapped around one of hers.

"You mustn't get too close, dear." Raith started, going for a charming approach first to lessen the blow.  These things could be so difficult on first-time mothers.  "Let me have it, and we can return to the way things have been."

"His name is Thomas." She said without looking up, completely dismissing his argument.  

"Empty night woman, you  _named_  it."

"I doubted you would have an opinion on the matter."

"Naming it will only make things more difficult for you in the long run."

" _Him._ Your  _son._ "

Raith paused at that, his expression changing from one of sweetness and understanding to the sharpness that always lay within, just beneath the surface.  "I have no sons."

That made Margaret laugh, a lilting, cocky thing, "Perhaps that was true an hour ago, but no more." She gave Thomas' forehead a kiss, though her eyes didn't leave his father.

"You misunderstand." He said shortly, "I have no sons, because I will kill him."

"No, I don't think you will." Her smug expression was trying his patience, as evidenced by the tick in his jaw.

"You think I am so weak that I could not kill an infant?  Are you that far out of your head that you dare to insinuate that I am not a man of my word?" He spat. _  
_

"On the contrary, darling, I know you will.  Which is why I've taken precautions to insure his safety."

Now it was his turn to laugh, but the fact that her smug smile never faltered gave him pause, "What precautions do you think will be enough to withstand me?"

"The circle I cast, first." She said, casting her eyes downward towards the floor around her bed-- and sure enough, there was a delicate silver circle laid out around the entire bed, mostly likely from a long, multi-stranded necklace that she had taken to wearing along with her usual pentacle these past few weeks.

He snorted in derision, "You've trapped yourself. Sooner or later even you will need to break the circle, to eat, sleep.  Or perhaps I should simply  _smoke_  you out and quicken the process."

She shuffled Thomas up to her shoulder, freeing up one of her hands though she made no move to cast anything-- inside the circle it would only bounce back at her, in any case.  

"You could, except that when I don't report in to those I contacted within the end of the week, you'll have a war on your hands that you are in no way prepared for."

"What the devil are you talking about?"

"Did you think I am without my own tricks, Lord Raith?" She said, peeking up at him from her eyelashes coquettishly, despite the wolfish grin on her face.  "You know I have contacts amongst the Fae- far-reaching and fast-traveling contacts.  Already they are taking my summons to those who owe me favors-- powerful allies amongst the Sidhe, the White Council, demons and angels alike.  More than you can possibly hope to withstand... and they will bring more with them.  No one likes to go into a war without the cavalry at their back, and they will bring their own cavalries to ensure their own survival."

He looked at her for a long moment, the look both infuriated and scrutinizing.  It was necessary to push past the rage of being so slighted, so  _played_  to see whether or not she was speaking the truth-- or if once her circle failed, he could drag her into the courtyard and drain her dry.

But she didn't flinch, even if she didn't meet his eyes, simply began to hum to the boy, who gurgled in his toothless mouth and clung to her.

"This is not the end of this, LeFay." Raith finally spat.  He needed time to think, to plan his next course of action- acting brashly could come back to haunt him if Margaret's threats proved true... and this could buy him the time to discover whether she was lying or not.  He stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him with enough force to dislodge several paintings and even a wall mounted shelf, all of which crashed to the floor in a horrible racket, waking the tired infant who immediately began to wail.  

With a groan of exertion, his mother lifted him from her shoulder to lay back in bed, Thomas on her chest, and both her hands on his small back.  She held him there, softly shushing his cries with her voice and her touch until he drifted back to sleep, drool creeping from his mouth onto her chest.

"Hush now, Thomas.  Sleep.  Sleep sweetly and grow strong, my little Prince.  I will keep you safe."


End file.
